


Stripped

by Loveforthestory



Series: More Love for Revolution [8]
Category: Charloe-fandom, Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lust, Sexual Content, a show of faith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveforthestory/pseuds/Loveforthestory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reason Charlie knows Monroe has been the gentleman he told her he had been around that fire just outside Pottsboro is because it was still there when she woke up. That itty bitty knife. Tucked in her bra as her very last resort. Warm against her skin against the swelling over her breasts.He had stripped her of any other weapons. But left that knife there. And his words were never far after she had truly realizes what he did for her. That he had left that knife there in that very intimate and personal place. A show of faith. His show of faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One ( of three)

 Stripped 

The reason Charlie knows Monroe has been the gentleman he told her he had been around that fire just outside Pottsboro is because it was still there when she woke up. _That itty bitty knife._ Tucked in her bra as her very last resort. It had been still there. Warm against her skin against the swelling over her breasts. 

The moment she had realized that, his eyes had not been able to make contact with hers. He must have felt it, he must have noticed it. She is so sure. He took care of her, but it was still Monroe there with her. He is an asshole and many other things, but stupid is not on that long list. 

He _has_ checked her thoroughly for weapons that night. That last part giving her an unexpected thrill of cold shiver down her spine and into her lower belly. 

And that means, his hands had made close contact with her. Those hands of his, hands she watched around his knifes and gun. His finger with focus around the trigger. Strong, killing hands. Large, rough skin and scarred. Those hands had been against her skin. 

Monroe’s hands had been there. Something she had only realized later, when the drugs had moved further out her system. And when those thoughts came, she had not been able to stop them.  He _had_ carried her, away from that bar. She _had_ been against his chest. He had stripped her of any other weapons. But left that knife there. And his words were never far after she had truly realizes what he did for her. That he had left that knife there in that very intimate and personal place.  A show of faith _. His_ show of faith. 

And what should be revolting and filling her with acid hate and loathing is becoming a twisted hidden thought she keeps firmly in check. Until she is alone. And that does not happen that often these days but when she is, there is not stopping it. 

She is alone now. 

Charlie watches him. Monroe is standing further ahead in camp. His boot on a log in front of him, his eyes slowly burning in the fire in front of him when he standing not far from Miles. Charlie raises her eyebrow when she watches both tall men, their familiar dark contours against the dark orange flames of the fire. Talking and going through their strategy. She can see dark irritation in his shoulders. The flames of the fire in front of him brushing the black leather of his jacket. She watches his weapons strapped next to his thigh. Long blades. His hand on the hilt of his sword. _That hand_. 

She softly slips away into the building behind her. It is dark and cool. Her thighs are pulsating with the need of one of her hands between them.  

The space around her is empty. Until she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the wall behind her. And the room fills with him. 

He is circling her, like her hand is circling her clit.  Steady controlled steps in an empty room where she is alone with him. Alone. And waiting. And not facing him. her heartbeat anticipating him. 

The empty room fills with the sound of his boots hitting the floor. His breathe is close. His shoulders tall and his eyes are burning through her tank and pants. She smoothly lets her hand slide into her pants. The skin brushing between the fabric and warm soft moistened curls. She gets goose bumps as her hand is going over wet skin and sensitive points and he is so close with her. She moves her thighs closer to get more friction when Monroe stops right behind her. Real enough to feel more wetness. 

His voice is that combination of cruel gruff slow smooth low ego. And later, when the guilt comes, she always remember this part. But there is no stopping this now. The thrill of the forbidden real thoughts are buzzing through her body. 

She is in control in this room. She is in control over where she is taking this. She is in control with her hand in her panties. But now, she gives him control. She had to be so strong for so long now. Take care of herself. So here in this empty room with him standing outside near that fire she lets him take control. She lets Monroe take over. 

She gives him control she craves for release and him in control to move in behind her. Remembering his smell of ego and deep male sweat as she  brings  it with her in this room. And she gives in as her hand starts to stroke faster over her swollen wet skin. He is close enough now to wrap his body around her, but he doesn’t. He is cool and collected. His nose and lips move closer to her ear. And then Monroe moves in for the kill. 

‘Strip. Down to that itty bitty knife in your bra.’  His voice low enough to reach the skin of her neck.  

And it is the thrill of his steel voice, of tallness and raw strength behind her that make her so close already. The rest of her thoughts are a mix of his watching her when she slowly strips until golden smooth naked skin. Of his hands on her body. In control, raw, smooth and slow all at the same time.

A mix of blue eyes meeting hers. Filled with challenge. For her. With lust. 

For her. 

His hand roaming her hips and trailing her sides. She is breathing faster and sweat is smooth and wet on the skin of her back now.  Thoughts of him pushing her against him or this wall or whatever will create friction and  take care of raw ache for him she feels in her lower belly. The palm of her hand is circling in her own rhythm. She is softly panting and closes her eyes when she gets lost in him. When she gets lost in what he can do to her. What he could do to her. 

She won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking, of falling apart, of giving in to him even  when he is not in the room with her. He is not here and yet her stubborn raw will tells her to be quiet. 

This is silent pleasure. Just her. Her mind, this room and her warm hand between her thighs. Charlie is in control. Always. But when she lets go, it has to be because of one man that matches her, that can strip her of her boundaries because she can let go with him. 

It is him now, behind her as her breathing starts to fill the room around her. She carves it out in her mind, bit by bit. How he is standing behind her. Imagining him with his legs firmly behind her, heavy wide thighs and his legs a little apart. She is watching herself from a distance, her body in between his thighs. Dark smug steel blue eyes and that moustache and scruff so close to her neck. She is imagining it, what it could be like, that scruff against her skin. Monroe so tall and wide and battle hard behind her. She is wet, so wet. And then her mind takes her to that one space that crosses each and every boarder.  

Monroe is standing behind her and he is angling her hips with strong determined experienced and controlling hands.  She can feel his wide hardness brushing her thigh. And she lets him, imagining what it would be like. What it will be like to feel him fill her for the first time. With his hardness, with his ego. With all of him. She images what he would whisper in her ear. 

Words of lust and encouragement. She images how hoarse his groan would sound when he buries himself deep inside of her, slowly and  inch by inch, but never not in control over what he is doing. To her. 

Because she lets him, here in this room. It is the idea of his grunt and curse and her name from his lips that reaches her ear that seduces her to fall over the edge. But what pushes her over the edge is just one thought. The most forbidden of them all. The thought  if Monroe can make her beg. For more. 

A soft moan escapes her throat and fills the empty dark room when she comes. She leans into hard wall behind her, her mind betraying her and feeding her with images of hard tall man. 

She comes with a storm of lust. Her thighs grasp her hand. The palm of her hand not moving anymore, her body convulsing around it and around one man. 

When she is breathing wildly and comes back to herself and opens her eyes again, the room is empty again. That itty bitty knife he had left for her, his show of faith, still strapped against her skin under her tank.

* * *

**Author’s Note: This was originally a one shot ( written for the Armada, prompt 56. Strip, down to that itty bitty knife in your bra), but now there is a little more time for this challenge I am going to write a second chapter. And a third. Thanks for reading everyone, and thank you so much for all your support and reviews. They mean so very much! Love from Love**


	2. Chapter 2

Bass watches how she slips away.  The last thing he sees from where he is standing is long wild curls, flowing over one of her shoulders. A vivid image of how it would be to wrap his fingers through her hair crashing through his mind like a damn bullet. 

He is in the middle of another bullshit discussion with Miles. And where his brother knows what needs to be done to wipe kaki of the map for good, he is now talking to Rachel’s pussy boyfriend, the man who he does not fucking recognise anymore these days. 

He feels the irritation constricting in hard edged waves of his muscles around his chest  and he feels air of frustration fill his lunges. His eyes steel blue, his body controlled by his mind, _because dammit, a lot of eyes on him and Miles now,_ and turned towards Miles. 

So middle in a big wave of irritation from hell he sees her out of the corner of his eye. Charlie. Or Charlotte, it all depends how pissed he is. Or what mood he is in. 

She is slipping away into that building behind her. And fuck, does he know a thing or two about slipping away when you are on the road like this. It is the quick darting out of her tongue to brush her bottom lip with it that makes some of the biggest alarm bells in the history of ever  go of in his damn mind. Especially the part in his mind that controls his dick.    

He has seen her. Maybe she is not aware. But he fucking has. In the beginning he could not take his eyes away from her because she could kill him within the next fucking second. Now he watches her for whole other reasons.   

He swallows thickly as he looks at his boot, placed at the low wooden log before him.  Just the thought of what she could be doing makes him have to shift his weight towards his other leg to create a bit more space in his fucking pants. 

His dick responding to that one image of her. That one where he sees her. Her eyes closed. Her head leaning back against a rough brick wall and her mouth slightly open with her hands in her pants and soft pants escaping her lips. Or whatever the hell she is doing in there now. 

He adds some more pressure on the foot now resting against the log in front of him. His arms crossed before his chest. He tells himself to get a fucking grip.  So he shifts his focus back to Miles. Ready for another round of getting into that thick skull of his that they have to do what needs to be fucking done. 

It is four fucking hours later when the camp finally settles down for the night. Which means he can finally slip the hell away because his balls feel like they are about to combust. The head of his cock aching against the fabric of his pants. His cock already demands his right hand right the hell now.

And he thinks of her, again. On his way to the tree line not far from their camp he thinks about her. About Charlie. He is Sebastian Monroe for fuck sake and he used to rule a god damn Republic. He had it all. _Control. Men. Command._ But he does not have her. He does not get to have her. And that fact makes him ache for her. Body. Mind. And cock. 

And when he starts to pump himself in his right hand, everything comes out in his angry moving of his fist around his damn dick. The frustration. The hell that has become his life on the road. Every fucking guy Charlie lets close to her. Except for him.

Somehow Charlie always brings out that urge deep inside his gut to pin her down under him and move that stubborn tilt of her chin into submission. 

Matching that intensity in her eyes with his hands in her pants.  That thought makes him groan in the back of his throat as he moves his fingers with a firmer grip around his shaft and her hips, ass and face appear in his mind. 

The building he has watched her slip away in reminds him of one of those building he would use for some good old fashioned interrogations. 

And she is there. In that one stripped room. Alone. Four bear walls. Barely some light. Standing. Waiting. He is sitting in a chair, legs spread wide and right there before her, taking his damn time. Taking as much time as he wants to take. He is in control here. Over this room. Over her. 

He waits. The moment his eyes lock with her in his mind and she really looks at him, he feels his cock twitch in his hand. He pumps harder. He gets up from that chair, he circles around her. He hears his damn boots on that stripped floor in that empty room. Just her, him. All of her for him only. He moves some hair from one shoulder, as he stops right behind her. Making sure she feels his breath right there. Making sure she knows he is there, behind her. And that he makes the god damn rules.  He groans in the shadows of the forest around him, her not there but god, he can feel her in his damn balls. She _is_ there.

His mind flashes from one image to the next. Those damn eyes of hers, that proud stubborn smirk.  That fucking beautiful face of hers. Charlie. Charlotte. Him behind her, her small and slender body  in between his thighs. Tasting her neck. Hands trailing over her side and back and hips. He starts to pumps harder. With more urgency. Faster.  Naked skin. Smooth muscles, his hands now filled with her tits. An aggressive push of his dick against her belly, just to show her exactly who the hell he is and exactly how he,  _him and only him_ , can show the very definition of lust. Another thought that makes him stroking himself even more aggressively.

 It is the image of him in between her legs and him about to thrust inside of her , ready for _him and only him_ , is what gets him off. Every fucking time. Again. And all over again. He comes  with a deep muffled groan and all over his damn hands in the silence of the dark forest. His mind and cock still filled in the way he wants to fucking fill her. Charlie. Her and only her. Bass is harshly breathing, sweat dripping over his back under his leather jacket and leaning against one hand against the tree before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thank you so much for reading and reviewing or leaving a kudo. It means so very much you are all there! I love writing this very passionate story, with Charlie. With Bass. I really liked writing this chapter from Bass' point of view. He is always a challenge to write because there are always so many interesting layers to write. There will be one more chapter when everything comes together within this story. Love from Love


	3. Chapter 3

She is pissed. She is very pissed. And Miles is right. When she gets pissed, she will do stupid, stupid things. 

Like play with fire.

It has been a long afternoon. An afternoon filled with men and her. With long discussions of what should be next in their fight against kaki. With Miles, Connor, Scanlon and a couple of more men from Duncan’s tribe. And _him_. Monroe. 

A long afternoon of discussion and  Monroe’s  eyes had been on her and locking with hers with an intensity that has been pissing her of with every build up of every  second.  The cool arrogant and steel amused blue that come in waves in his eyes adding to the pissing her of. 

It is nightfall. She just did a perimeter check. It is dark now and she is hungry and irritated. She has found her own spot again. The one close with a good view over their camp and close and in the shadow of the large building behind her that contains the fantasy of last night. 

And when Monroe walks up to her when she is eating some food and minding her own business she knows trouble is there. 

The asshole has walked his ass all the way through camp to talk to her, so she knows whatever will be next, _will_ piss her of some more. 

Bass looks at her, hands in the pockets of his jacket. He stops a couple of feet from her. She is eating, moving some fruit away from her lips with the back of her hand. She is barely looking at him. But the tension in her shoulders and the complete shift in her tell him she knows he is here. He has spend day after day with her on the road for weeks alone, so he knows a thing or two about her. And she can do whatever the hell she wants and act the way she does, she is bad, very bad, at hiding whatever the hell she is keeping from him.

‘So...enjoying your dinner?’   He starts, his voice reaching predatory territory.  A hint of annoyed ego in it. 

Monroe’s eyes move over to the guy that has just brought her dinner. He belongs to Duncan’s tribe. He is friendly and not that bad to to look at. And he has been flirting with her. She is not interested. But now she knows, Monroe has been paying attention. He somehow always does. It is bugging the hell out of her. But then again, something else if not far away. 

Bass has to swallow and feels tension playing with his jaws the moment he looks at the punk thinking he has a chance with her.  He is sitting a couple of fires away from them and turns his head away from her and Monroe, the moment he has noticed Monroe is looking at him with a death stare. 

‘Yeah...so?’  Charlie’s voice is nonchalant on the surface, but she has to bite back an annoyed huff of air. 

She also has to shove back images of him with her in that dark room of the building and the shadow of that building she is currently sitting in. Shoving back that dark room and her fantasy back to where they belong. A very dark corner of her mind. Forgetting her own hand in her pants and what she has asked him to do to her, with her, there in the dark, where it was her and her thoughts with him in it, alone. 

Charlie wishes he would walk the hell away. Another part of her locking with him, screaming at her he should stay so they could go for another round. 

It is like that Wednesday afternoon on that sandy rood under trees, not far from their safe house when they were on their way back from New Vegas. Just like then, he is looking everywhere but at her but she can feel it oozing of his body. He is building it up, only to go in for that kill. 

‘It is just astonishing Charlotte...where you find all that time...’  Bass’ eyes move back to the asshole that he watched bring Charlie dinner earlier,  ‘ You must be very busy...’   His voice is raspy.   The insult dripping from his words. 

Last time this happened she had felt sick to her stomach and some other things for him bringing things like that up. But now, she is on to him. She knows why he is here. She is ignoring her heartbeat hammering inside of her chest. She ignores the tension building up between her thighs. 

She slowly gets up from her spot near her pack and canteen. She grabs the canteen and looks at him. One burning look. A soft smirk playing with her lips. He plays with her, she can feel it. She just tells herself to stay the hell where she is. Let him figure this out, let him figure out how far he is willing to take this. So she can figure out the same along the way. 

She starts to walk, needing some more water from the stream right behind the building, to fill her canteen. He is not far behind. 

Bass feels something itch right under his skin. It is anger and lust and so much fucking more. But most of all, she is pissing him of. She looks at him, one more challenging smirk around her lips.  The one that says that whatever will happen, he won’t ever get to have her. But he can taste it, smell it, feel it, crave it, the lust in her eyes, right behind that biting blue in her eyes. And right fucking there he knows what he always known somehow. That burning lust is there for him. She is mocking him, challenging him, daring him. And denying him and herself for what the hell is going on here. 

And then he watches her eyes, and he sees it. She thinks she has won this round. He feels fucking pissed and turned on at the same time. His cock responding to his anger. Miles once told him that the moment he gets into trouble is when he lets the rage boil a little too hard or when he lets his other head do all the thinking. Right now, it is both. 

She is smirking that mocking grin of hers. The one that tells him he is nothing. But he has seen it burn in her eyes, the same thing that has been stirring his cock. And right then and there he wants to smack or fuck that look from her face. But he is a gentleman, so the smacking thing is definitely not an option. 

He grabs her, and with one sweep of his tall body he has her inside the building and against one of the walls. Her canteen falling on the ground next to her the only sound in the room. That and his breathing, hard, in her face, tall before her. 

Charlie feels in that moment, playing with her body like she weighs nothing, just exactly how strong he is. It should not bother her, it should not turn her on like this. It should not bring back fantasies she has had about him rushing back into the room with her. The room that is not empty anymore. The room where it is not her and her fantasy anymore. He is here, with her. It should not set lust on fire. But it does. 

The sounds and the lights of the flames still reaching them. The room is cool and dark and all for him. And her. Out of sight. 

Charlie tilts her chin and looks right at him. Her heart is beating inside of her chest, hard and wildly. She is not surprised. She does not know why. She finds herself trapped between wall and Monroe and she knows she should be pissed. But right now the only thing her thighs want to do is push themselves against him. 

‘So, what now Monroe...’    She starts, her words still in control, although the rest of her body is betraying her already. Her eyes narrowing, a small smile around her lips. Her voice thick with lust.  His jaws are locked, his face is a mixture of rage of lust and so close to hers. Lust for her in his eyes there that should revolt her. But it makes her wet, so so wet. 

He tilts his head down and away from her with a predatory knowing smile. Making her feel insecure and out of control fast. Then he tilts his head back, towards her, his eyes locking with her. 

‘Tell me something, Charlotte...when you walked into this room last night...did you enjoy yourself?’  His voice is low  and each and every of his words well chosen and sharp and challenging and telling her he already knows that answer, the answer that is burning through the fabric of her pants and right into her panties right now. 

She has to tilt her head back, her hair and the back of her head finding the wall behind her and nowhere else to go. 

Bass  watches her face drop just like that time in that pool and fucking hell. He has to suck in a breath of his cock almost overriding his brain when he sees the answer in her eyes. Smug satisfaction is appearing in his eyes now. 

Bass can only look at her and then, then he sees it. The soft release of her breathe. The desire burning in her eyes for him making that first move. And he swears, if this is what she wants, he _will_ give it to her. But he won’t make this easy. She will beg for it. Fuck, she will. He has to make fists of his hand to control that raw thought. 

Charlie knows it is wrong. But she cannot back, not now, not when Monroe is so close and so...He turns her around before she can finish her thoughts. Charlie feels herself being pressed against his chest. She fits so easily against his body, and he seems never ending. She has to swallow. His hardness against her lower back. She feels his cock, hard and tall and wide and she feels liquid between her thighs, her core screaming for hardness and being stretched.  She moves her hands against the wall in front of her when he starts to trail a hand against her side. 

Bass smells her, all of her. She is so damn close. She is standing right fucking there, where he has imagined her when he had been jerking of last night. Her body against his chest, her ass against his cock. Her there, to take. For him. 

Charlie feels his body, tall and oozing and him shifting his weight so she can feel his thighs against her ass and just a hint of his cock press a little harder against her. She almost makes the mistake of pressing her ass against it, needing the friction. Needing to feel him. Needing to know what it would be like. Lust there  just like he had been there in her thoughts when she had stood in this very room with her fingers stroking her clit last night. Without him. He is here now. 

It is surreal. It is everything. 

Bass huffs, a smirk around his lips when he feels how she holds her breathe when he moves her tank up and his hand moves under the fabric. Finally claiming her, finally getting to feel her the way he fucking wants to do. He moves her a bit harder against the wall in front of her. Just to show her he can. He is playing with her smooth belly with his rough fingers. He sucks in a breath when he moves his hand under her damn bra. Playing with her tits. He waits. And there it fucking is. That moan he has been thinking about for months. That moan only he would eventually get out of her. 

Charlie bites a moan away, her teeth slamming into her bottom lip. To keep it in. But it is too late. Her tongue not far away to sooth the worse pain from her biting her own lip until she can taste a bit of blood. Monroe’s hand cups her breasts and it is the pressure of his, god, his, hand that is moving her mind and lustful heart. And it is all there is. 

His hand moves lower and lower and it is his hand that replaces her hand from last night as he unbuttons the button of her pants with an easy experience that is making her dizzy. And then, god then, he lets his hand slide over curls and wet, wet skin. Charlie closes her eyes as his hand is large between her thighs and she fights back another moan. A soft pant that fills her chest and head. Her mouth feels dry and her thighs clasp around his hand and fingers that are now over her clit and curls and swollen lips. Large and wide and with decades of experience. 

He groans, he curses, he feels an overwhelming need to bend her over and slam himself inside of her. But he doesn’t. He tells himself to get a grip. He will enjoy every fucking second of wet Charlie now his hand moves into black panties. 

Charlie feels how he is stroking her, determined, skilled and with ease. Nothing she has ever experiences before in a man. Not like this. He is taking his time and breaking her apart slowly. And she gives in. Willing. Because she knows he would let her walk out of this room. But she does not want to anymore. 

 And then, she has the overwhelming urge to see him. To see what he is doing, to see his face and eyes. She turns around.  She feels how he gives her room to turn around in his arms. Bass looks at her and pushes her right back against the wall.  His wet fingers now tracing over her ass, trapped between her warm skin and pants. 

‘This what you want baby...’   Bass asks with rough voice when he slowly moves her pants further down her thighs, enough to give him  access to whatever he will take now. Claim now.  He frees his cock and feels his cock and ego swell when she cannot look away and her eyes meet his cock.

 The baby from his lips sounds obscene and cruel and is adding to her raging lust and anger. 

She tells herself this is just a quick fuck. To get it out of her system. But then his fingers move away the fabric of her panties before her warm entrance without taking them of with a claiming torturing pace, the nigh air cool against her swollen wet lips. 

And then. God. Then. She feels how he stretches her when he finally, finally fills her. The finally moaning through her head. _Finally_. Him. 

Bass thrusts aggressively inside of her, waiting between each and every thrust after that first ball aching first thrust inside of her tight pussy, to see the effect they have on her now he finally has her, her wet thighs against his. 

He tells himself this is just him showing her what the hell he can do. Claiming her, finally taking her the way she has allowed him in with just her eyes all that damn time. 

But then she moans and her eyes narrow and she leans into his body for just one fucking second. He can feel the exact moment she realizes her mistake. Her chin tilts up towards him, her eyes get more wild and she tries to restore the rhythm and erase  everything else between them. 

She succeeds, a soft smirk around her lips, her out of breathe. Her eyes never outrunning his as he slams inside of her. But he has already seen it, and as much as she thinks she is keeping up with her game, he knows the truth. From that moment, with him balls deep inside of her and her wet around his curls, he knows the truth that is Charlie Matheson. 

He keeps the pace low although his balls are more than fucking ready to empty themselves inside of her. He controls himself. His lust and wanting to fill her with his seed in controlled low grunts that roll of his chest. 

Charlie feels him. Wide and hard inside her warmth. She feels his balls against her thigh, her wet warm thighs. And with every thrusts she starts to feel it. He is fucking her to the edge, but he won’t let her fall over it.   

She gasps when he thrusts inside of her again. A well placed long torturing thrust deep inside of her. But it is not enough. How much her moans deepen, how much her breathing gets faster, how much pressure she lets build up in her core and lower belly, she knows she is not going to come. Not unless he lets her.  

She moves her hand that has been wrapped around his upper arm between them, her hand on its way to his curls meeting hers. But even before it can reach its destination Monroe stops her, pinning the hand, with her other hand, against the wall behind her. An almost cruel and very satisfied fast grin is now around his mouth. Charlie takes a harsh breathe in to control herself but she can’t. Her hips are moving harder to seek out more friction. 

Bass looks at her, while a smooth smug smirk appears around his mouth. His dick twitching inside of her when he pins her hands against that wall, another thrust inside of her while he pins her against that wall with his thighs and dick. Sweat on his skin, the light of the fires outside brushing his moustache and beard. 

Charlie feels how her panting and his dick become her whole world. The wall rough behind her but all there is now is that man in front of her. Monroe. His eyes steel and burning at the same time. His face between lust and knowing she is realizing who is in control. She has thought about this. In her fantasies. What it would be like. If he could make her beg. 

Know she knows he can. 

Because her mind is not existing anymore, there is only lust. Lust starts to moan his name and because he keeps her pinned down against that wall there is nowhere left to go. 

Nowhere but to open her eyes and look straight at him. Nowhere to go but wanting to come. Nowhere to go but wanting him to make her come. Like he has done so many times in her fantasies. 

Bass lets his eyes go over her face. He has seen and soaked up this moment so many times, when he had been interrogating men. The moment he watched the other person break. When it was there and he got everything he wanted.  He looks at Charlie. And he feels the victory of her breaking in his chest shooting straight to his cock. 

But he will be right fucking there to catch her when she would break and fall.  And something inside of him tells him she knows exactly that. 

‘Tell me...Charlotte....’     his face is close to hers, his voice low and border lining cruel,  but he cannot keep the heat for her out of his damn voice,  ‘...tell me and I will make you come like you have...’ another thrust when she moans something, ‘....never...’  another thrust, his cock hitting that one spot inside of her, with an agonizing slow pace, ‘..did before.’ 

He hears the protest in her moan, he watches her struggle.  He moves his face closer to her ear.  ‘I promise it will be so...so good Charlotte.’ 

Charlie moans, breaks, wide open there in front of him. She is wet, warm. And he. Him. Monroe. Strong raw build man in front of her, all ego and lust and smugness and deep thrusting of his wide cock. Keeping her up against that wall with his voice, eyes and thighs only.

She curses somewhere far away, but there is something in his voice through ego and smugness and cruel Monroe that is warm and raspy and low and so good that she somewhere in the most remote corner of her mind tells herself for just once, she will let go. 

He waits, as he keeps pushing inside of her. She closes her eyes. And sinks lower against his cock with her body.  ‘God...’  she does not even recognise her own voice, raw and lust filled and low in the dark, ‘....make me come ....’  she moans again...’Make me come Monroe.’ 

She is met with such a low primal grunt rolling from his chest and his cock deep inside of her that she is not sure if the aggressive jerks of his cock or his low primal deep grunt make her come. 

Bass feels the tremble in his thighs and the low grunt of fucking lust for her, for Charlie, when he starts to fuck her hard against that wall when Charlie Matheson is begging him, and only _him,_ to make _her_ come. 

He groans and it is her begging him, asking of something from him, that makes him come in hot waves against her belly. His with sticky seed against her thigh and lower belly when she sighs one more time, one moan shining through. One moan between them, his harsh breathing and their sweat, skin against skin when she is breathing hard and he holds her up against the wall in front of him. 

His lips are close to her neck and he fucking does not mean to. But it is too late. His mouth presses a warm kiss against her sweaty skin. He curses at himself. Giving too fucking much away.  He finds her looking at him, her blue eyes burning inside of him. Just for one second, and he sees her. Stripped from hate and everything between them. He just sees her. Charlie. 

When she moves out of the building and she is leaving Monroe in there, she can still feel Monroe between her thighs. She can still feel his mouth, there, against her neck.  She does not know why she has not pushed him away. Something her well fucked mind does not want to linger too long around. She does not look back, as firm steps take her out of the building. She told herself this would be a onetime thing. To get this out of her system.  Now she knows it isn’t. It won’t be. 

She knows he is more a part of her than he has been before. So she walks, boots on the ground, not looking back. She does not have to. She knows Monroe is there. He is there, she can feel his eyes burning through the leather of her jacket, looking at her and looking out for her when she walks through their nightly camp. 

Bass watches Charlie walk out of the building. His cock twitches one last time, aching against the inside of his pants to have her again. His eyes won’t let her go. He sees men looking at her but hell, she is his. His and only his to have.  He thinks about fucking her. What it would be like. When she would let him close. Again. Not if. When. He thinks about her wet curls there around his cock. And then he thinks about her warm neck, her salty skin. About his damn mouth that needed to kiss her. 

And he watches her, swinging hips and all Matheson attitude on her way through camp. He smirks, fast, with a warmth crashing through a chest he cannot hold out of there. 

That is the thing with Charlie Matheson. She _can_ smirk that smirk of hers. she _is_ infuriating. She is driving him fucking crazy in all the ways of crazy there are. And then, she will lock eyes with him, she will let hem in, for just one fucking second. Stripping him of every fucking thing and looking right into his damn heart.  And giving him no other option than to lock eyes with her and give her a piece of him. 

He takes a deep breath in as he watches her. Shakes his head, moves his hand to the hilt of his sword before he walks outside. But her, Charlie, so fucking close he can still taste her, him having her right there where he fucking craved her. 

He had her right there.  
He has her.

That is the other thing with Charlie Matheson. He cannot not go back for her. 

To her.

_The end...or to be continued in many other stories..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a one shot but I a m so glad there was time to write more. The story started as Charlie fantasising about him, and him thinking of her. But somehow it became about a little a bit more. A bit of their bond in there too. Bringing it all together here in this chapter. Thank you all for reading, it means so much you are all there. I will write and publish two more pieces for the Armada. And then, I am going to start publishing a story I am currently working on, called ‘Secrets of desire.’ A multi chapter story, Charloe. Love from Love


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